Distillers Betting On 'Boutique' Versions of Hooch

Johnson had been approached by several distillers to attach his name to legal moonshine. (He already had a Southern food mini-empire, selling country hams, pork skins and more.) But he had shied away, worried that a substandard product would seal moonshine's bad reputation once and for all.

Mahalek's plan -- to stay true to moonshine's Carolina roots but "take it up a notch" -- appealed to Johnson. The result is a corn-based whiskey that's more akin to a premium vodka than to the stuff made in a still out back. Catdaddy and Midnight Moon are triple-distilled, a process that eliminates rough flavors and the famous burn associated with old-school shine. Both also are 80-proof, on par with most premium liquors though far weaker than traditional moonshine. "It's smoother" than what he used to make illegally, Johnson says. "We couldn't afford to distill more than once. We had to sell it as quick as we could get it in a jar."

Improving quality is essential if moonshine is to take off as a premium spirit, says Matthew B. Rowley, author of "Moonshine!" (Lark Books, 2007) and a historian of craft distillers. Moonshine may have a long history -- it was produced by the Scotch Irish who settled the Carolinas 400 years ago -- but it earned a deservedly bad reputation during Prohibition. With demand sky-high, unscrupulous bootleggers cut corners -- using sugar, not corn -- and sometimes used car radiators to condense the alcohol. The process produced high levels of lead and an undocumented number of fatalities.

There's still plenty of rotgut on the market today, and much of it is illegal. In November, federal agents raided a barn in Rocky Mount, Va., resulting in a 31-count indictment for, among other things, illegal production and sale of liquor. But craft distillers are slowly changing moonshine's reputation. "Moonshine is the Amy Winehouse of the drinking set," Rowley said. "There is real genius afoot, but what a mess you have to crawl through to find it."

It's worth the trouble for many distillers who increasingly see moonshine as a way to connect to their heritage. Italians in Philadelphia make grappa; distillers in New Orleans and San Francisco make absinthe, says Rowley. "You're not really a Southerner until you drink shine," he says.

The liquor is growing in popularity for another reason, says Audrey Rodriguez of New Orleans's Cochon: It offers a different kind of high. "Moonshine brings you up. It's like drinking an energy drink. When patrons leave, they are on cloud nine. And the hangover isn't nearly as bad as vodka and tequila." At Cochon, the moonshine is served neat or mixed with root beer.

Southern chefs, jumping on the eat-local bandwagon, also are incorporating the classic Southern hooch. Jared Lee at Noble's Grille in Winston-Salem adds Midnight Moon to the sauce for shrimp and grits. Soiree in Mooresville, N.C., puts Catdaddy in French onion soup, while Blue 5 in Roanoke adds it to the glaze for its Moonshine Chicken.

The success of legal moonshine has surprised no one more than Junior Johnson, who says he finds the idea of yuppies sipping moonshine cocktails kind of funny. (Johnson still drinks his with lemonade.) At the same time, no one could be more pleased: If the product takes off, that will disprove "a lot of the bad things about moonshine that wasn't true and was wrote about it. If you go about it right and be truthful, moonshine is something you can be proud to have your name on."